Freelance
by Graphospasm
Summary: A tabloid journalist snaps a rather unfortunate picture of Seto Kaiba. Though she might not know it yet, she just messed with the wrong trillionaire. Very eventual KaibaxOC.
1. Chapter 1: A New Day Dawns

Freelance

Chapter 01:

"A New Day Dawns"

* * *

><p>I thought I'd packed light when I boxed up all my stuff in my small Chicago apartment, but looking at the way those same boxes filled my even smaller Domino City apartment… well, the lack of walking room rudely alerted me to the fact I was, indeed, a bit of a pack rat.<p>

I picked my way over the crates and cardboard coffins in my bare feet; I'd shed my shoes at the door, just like a good Japanese person, and the hard wood flooring felt cold under my toes. The window, when I got to it… that also felt cold when I pressed my hand against the glass. It was December, after all. The weatherman predicted snow within the week.

My view—the only one my one-window apartment had—wasn't much to speak of. It looked out mostly onto the blank brick wall of a neighboring building. If I looked straight down I'd see an alleyway, the kind people get killed in, and if I looked to my left, I'd catch a glimpse of the deserted street in front of my apartment complex. The whole setup wasn't too inspiring, especially since it was four o'clock in the morning and everything looked grey and disinterested in the dark. I'm a daytime girl no matter what my pale complexion says.

I turned my back on the window and leaned against the sill. My arms crossed over my chest. The boxes were going to be daunting to unpack. Where the hell was I supposed to fit everything, anyway? This apartment only had two closets, and apparently that was a luxury in an apartment of this size, which felt strange to me and my crazy American ways. Yoko had warned me that my place would be small. I just hadn't expected it to be _this_ small—from the kitchen near the front door and shoe-removal-area-whatever-you-want-to-call-it I could see straight back into my tiny closet of a bedroom (if I left all of the sliding doors open, of course), and the bathtub was only big enough for me to stand in, and the living area was only slightly bigger than the one I slept in, and those were the only rooms I had so I'm out of stuff to describe.

As I stared at the boxes covering the floor I felt my stomach growl. I quickly crossed through the box minefield and grabbed my coat off the peg by the door; sitting on the ledge separating the shoe removal space from the actual floor of the apartment, I pulled on my tennis shoes and smoothed the wrinkles from my skinny jeans. They were still mussed from the seemingly endless flight between Chicago and Tokyo; I'd need to shower soon, but first… sustenance.

* * *

><p>Yoko called while I wandered through the dark streets of Domino City. I answered my cell as I surveyed the sundry closed-for-the-night sushi houses, sake bars, ramen shops, clothing stores, small electronic businesses, and grocery stores with a critical eye. Where would I buy food when it came time to start cooking for myself, come to think of it? Would I have to eat Asian food all the time? Where could I find my accustomed American junk food? <em>If they don't have Oreos in Japan, I swear to God…<em>

"Did you arrive safely, Lucy-chan?" Yoko asked in her typical chipper voice (how she managed to be so bubbly at four-oh-freaking-clock is beyond the scope of my understanding; even _if_ I'm wide awake from jetlag I still feel exhausted at four). She spoke in English for my benefit; though lightly accented, her pronunciations were nigh perfect.

"Yeah, I did," I told her. "Almost missed the bus from Tokyo, but no biggie."

"I am happy you made it. And your things were in your apartment when you arrived, correct?" she asked.

"It's all in order, yeah." I paused for a moment, and then in Japanese I said: "Yoko-chan, thank you very much for taking care of me, and for arranging my stay here. I greatly appreciate your kindness."

I had the satisfaction of hearing Yoko gasp. "Lucy-chan, your Japanese has improved so much!" she gushed in her near-perfect English. "When I met you you could only write and speak a little, but now you speak so well!"

"Well, I worked hard," I said. "I knew I needed to know how to talk to people if I was going to live here."

Despite my light words, I was indeed proud of myself. I'd only had a few months to prepare to move here, and I'm made the most of them. Yoko had first come to Chicago when she joined the _Sun Times_ as an editor; I was a field journalist so she got a lot of my work coming across her desk, and since I'd actually taken Japanese in college and could talk to her a little bit, we'd become friends. She'd been the one to suggest I come to Japan the same way she'd come to Chicago two years prior, to work at the weekly newspaper she edited, and given how badly I needed to get away from the States…

I stopped myself before I thought about what had driven me out of my country. It wasn't worth getting depressed over.

"I studied my ass off when you said I was cleared to come work here," I continued. Then, in a more sincere tone: "I won't let you down, Yoko. I know you risked a lot to get me this job."

"I know you will do wonderfully," she assured me. "Now, please excuse me, because I have work in the morning. I just wanted to make sure you were safe."

"Thanks, Yoko-chan," I said. "I'll see you Monday?"

"First day of work!" she chimed, and we bid one another goodbye.

I slipped the phone into my back pocket as I looked around. Everything was dark, except for down the street I could see the glare of bright fluorescent lights shining out of some tall glass windows. I beelined toward the place since it was the only one that was lit up, and when I reached it I saw that it was the Japanese equivalent of a convenience store. Familiarly made my shoulders sag with relief. Refrigerated cases of colas, rows of chips and candies, a small liquor section—yeah, I knew places like this very well.

A bell rang above the door when I pushed it open and walked past a rack of comics… I mean, manga. I stopped briefly to pick up copies of several different newspapers, plus a couple of magazines—all in Japanese, of course, but I wanted to get familiar with the journalistic climate and this was the best way.

"May I help you, please?"

The inquiry came in English, funnily enough. I turned to the counter, startled by this, and I saw a little Japanese man with graying hair and round glasses smiling at me. He looked nice enough; I tended to like old people on principle, and this guy had the face of a doting grandfather. Obviously he thought I was some lost tourist; he had that I-want-to-help-this-poor-unfortunate-soul look in his eye.

"I think I will just browse for now," I said, carefully sorting out the Japanese in my head before I spoke it.

The old man's smile vanished into a surprised look, and then it reappeared more broadly than ever. "You speak Japanese!" he said, switching to his native tongue. "Are you an American?"

"Yes, sir," I said. "I just moved her from Chicago." I pointed out the shop's doors over my shoulder. "I live up the street, on E Block."

"Oh! Welcome, welcome!" he said. He gestured at the store. "I'll be seeing you a lot, then?"

"Yes, sir," I said. I dipped him a short bow. "My name is Lucy Matte—I mean, Matthews, Lucy."

It took him a minute to pronounce my name correctly. The 'l' and 'r' sounds can be exchanged in Japanese with no change in meaning, which is why my first name kept coming out 'Ruci', but eventually he got it and told me that his name was Sakumo. We chatted for a few seconds after that, but then my stomach growled by way of protest and he pointed me in the direction of the foodstuffs.

I headed toward the shelves filled with instant ramen and other ready-to-eat stuff, flipping to the back of one of the newspapers as I did. They were running a story on a city council election, plus a small article on how a new center for underprivileged kids had just been opened by some big corporation…

I collided with him because I was too busy being stupid and reading while walking, but as I started to trip over myself and fall he caught my arm. I found myself looking slightly up (up? How tall was this guy?) into a pair of bright brown eyes that lay under a shag of bright blonde hair; on instinct, English popped out of my mouth in the form of a spastic: "Oh my god, I am _so sorry_! Are you alright, dude?"

He let go of my arm as I regained my footing, but this guy—this guy who was totally not Japanese, that's for sure, since he was blonde and taller than me and I'm 5'8—screwed up his eyes and asked: "Uh… lady, I don't speak English."

I stared at him. He asked the question in perfect—I mean, in _native_ Japanese. He didn't have any sort of foreign accent at all, which was just about the weirdest thing ever. Surely this guy was American, or European, or _something_, right? He was _blonde_, for crying out loud! And he had to be at least 5'10!

"Oh, I apologize," I said in Japanese. "I thought you might be American."

For a moment the man looked surprised, but then he started to laugh. He reached up and tugged on his bangs a few times.

"It's 'cause of this, right?" he joked.

"Well, yes," I admitted. "You do not look Japanese."

"I get that a lot," he said. He turned back to the shelf of food he'd been looking at with a snarky smile. "And neither do you, for the record. Ya don't sound like it, either."

I suppressed a roll of my eyes. _No duh I'm not Japanese_, I thought. _Was it my auburn hair or my green eyes that gave it away? Oh, or was it my pale skin, or my freckles? Ooh, ooh, and I'm tall, too! How 'bout any of _those _things?_

"I am from Chicago," I said. I gave him a short bow. "It was nice chatting with you."

"Ya don't have to be so formal, lady," he tossed at me casually as he inspected a packaged rice ball. "I'm Jonouchi. You live around here?"

Caught between being polite and actually getting some food in me (which is a direr situation than it sounds because I turn into a total Grinch when I get hungry) I began studying the same food he had been looking at. I snagged three packaged rice balls off the shelf and decided that they would be good enough for now, so long as I got a drink, too.

"I just moved into Sakana Apartments on Block E," I said.

Jonouchi's eyes lit up. "No kidding? We're neighbors! I live across the street!"

"Really?" I asked, jumping at the chance to get an insider's words on my new area of home. "Where do you get groceries? And where do you do laundry?"

We walked over to the drink cases, Jonouchi chattering directions on how to get to the best places in my ear before we both headed to the counter to check out. Sakumo bid us goodnight; we had hardly gotten to the street outside when I tore into one of the riceballs like a ravenous shark.

"Wow, you were hungry," Jonouchi remarked. We walked side by side since our homes lay in the same direction.

"I've been travelling for two days straight," I said through a full mouth.

"I just got back from… a vacation," he said. I could tell he wasn't telling me the whole story because of the distant look in his eye, but whatever, it's not like he really knew me or anything and it wasn't like I actually cared. "Totally starving."

"Me too," I said.

We talked about nothing until we reached my building; I ended up telling him my name (which he kept messing up, though I got the feeling it was on purpose given the sparkle in his eye) and that I was a journalist, and he... well, he didn't tell me much other than that he had lived in Domino his entire life and that if I needed any help getting to know the city, he was my man.

_ Score,_ I glibly gloated in my head. _Now I have _two_ friends! Peachy! You're pathetic, Lu. Just pathetic._

When it came time for us to part, Jonouchi and I stood there awkwardly, staring at each other; neither of us quite knew how to say goodbye, because meeting new people at four in the morning is just too weird sometimes to handle like a normal functioning adult. In the end I just dipped him another bow and thanked him for his time, which he returned with a smirk and a toss of his blonde head.

"Yeah yeah, you and your manners. It was nice meetin' ya, Ruci-kun," he said.

"Loo-see," I said, exaggerating the syllables even as I gave a mental scowl at the masculine honorific he'd tacked onto my name. "Loo-loo-_loo_-_see_!"

"Roo-see," he teased. "I'll see you around sometime!"

Though I didn't exactly believe him (he was just some random dude off the street, after all) I wasn't about to say so to his face. I bowed again and thanked him a few more times before my politeness scared him the hell off; as I walked up the stairs to my sixth floor apartment, I unwrapped my second rice ball and crammed it unceremoniously into my mouth. I was sure I looked like a freckled chipmunk with my cheeks packed full of rice, but me and dignity aren't on speaking terms so whatever, it wasn't like I cared.

The sight of the boxes on the floor almost made me walk right back out of my apartment when I opened the door and saw them sitting there (it was like they were waiting for me or something) but I ignored them in favor of crossing to the window on the other side of the room. Only belatedly did I remember that I had forgotten to take my shoes off; I stopped cold halfway across my apartment and kicked them off by the heel, tripping a little in my haste to get them back to the shoe area—and in the process I choked on a piece of rice ball I hadn't sufficiently chewed quite yet. I gagged and gasped until I managed to shove my head under the faucet in the kitchen and gulp down a liter of water.

"You're in Japan less than a day and you already almost kill yourself," I wheezed when I finally had a clear windpipe. "Great, Lu. Just friggin' great."

Life saved, I finally made it to the window and looked out of it. I unwrapped my final death trap—I mean, rice ball—and dropped the wrapper on the sill, reminding myself to clean it up later even though I knew I wouldn't. The sun was rising over the roofs of what few buildings I could see from my partially blocked view, light tingeing the sky salmon pink and pale grey. It wasn't much different from sunrises back home, which was a bit of a comfort, even if it was a cold one.

"A new day dawns," I murmured. I held the unwrapped rice ball to my lips. As I watched the sun come up, I took my first bite.

* * *

><p><em>NOTES:<em>

_ This is my first YGO fanfic! Yay!_

_ I'm using the characters' Japanese names. The story takes place after the end of the series; I'm putting their ages at around 23-25. More details will come with the flow of the story._

_ I wanted my OC's meeting with the first member of the YGO canon cast to not be very special. After all, he's just some guy off the street to her at this point. It shouldn't be all bells and flowers if it's going to be realistic._

_ Despite meeting Jo first, the OC's intended love interest is Seto Kaiba, everyone's favorite jerk—but be warned, their relationship will be slow. And it won't be fun, at first._

_ I'm trying to keep Japanese culture fairly prevalent in this. Lots of YGO fics I've read have glossed over the stuff like language and customs, but I'm going to try to keep it real, here. That's why Lucy speaks so formally when she speaks Japanese—she's new at it and only knows very proper grammar. Her Japanese will get more relaxed with time. She's too snarky to not pick up on funny turns of phrases, after all!_

_ Hope you enjoyed getting to know Lucy! We'll learn more about who she is and where she came from soon. =]_


	2. Chapter 2: A Club Called 'Game'

Freelance

Chapter 02:

"A Club Called Game"

* * *

><p>Yoko (and myself now, too, if I wanted to get technical about it) worked at Domino's weekly newspaper, <em>The<em> _Domino Line_. Aside from the incredibly lame pun-thing in its name, _The Line_ was a respectable house that put out a massive paper every Sunday. In it you found all the top stories and breaking headlines from the previous week, the stuff other papers published daily, but instead of reporting day-to-day events and maybe missing something in the rush to get a daily rag on the newsstand, _The Line_ sought to critically analyze the events of the week and publish educated, thoughtful articles on all of them.

The paper seemed a lot more relaxed than _The Sun Times_, and that suited me just fine. I only had to come into the office on Mondays to get my assignments for the week and on Saturdays to turn them in on time for printing; otherwise, I was on my own to scrounge up stories and interviews on my own schedule, and if they needed me for anything last-minute-specific, they said they'd just call. I had a ton of creative freedom, too, so as long as I got the stories they assigned me done, I was allowed to chase any other leads I saw fit.

Whether or not they actually published my preferred sort of freelance stories, however, remained to be seen.

* * *

><p>After my first day at work—in which I was introduced to my boss, the editor in chief, and the rest of the staff—I went home, kicked off my shoes, and collapsed on the couch I'd bought at a secondhand store the day before. It smelled like dust, but it was a pretty red color and it was in good condition, so whatever, I could deal, especially since the store owner had thrown in a few fringy black and purple pillows for free. I think she took pity on the fact that I didn't have much money in my wallet. I'd spent it all on airfare and the first payments on my apartment.<p>

I pulled one of the black pillows to my chest and snuggled into a little ball. I debated taking a nap right then and there, but instead I started thinking about my first assignment for _The Line_. Since I had been one of the chief journalists for the entertainment section of _The Sun,_ they'd stuck me with a story on a new club opening in downtown Domino—a club called _Game_. I'd written about club openings more than once so the assignment promised to be easy. The only issue was that the club's opening night was the coming Friday; if I had to turn the article in on Saturday morning, I'd have to stay up all night to experience the club, then go home and write the piece in the wee hours of the morning. It didn't promise to be my best work.

"Givin' the newbie the grunt jobs," I grumbled into the pillow. "Great."

That wasn't necessarily true, of course. The job came with perks despite the story's rough hours. They'd provided me with a pass to the club's VIP section so I could see everything the joint had to offer—and speaking of seeing everything—

I rolled off the couch, hitting the floor on my knees so hard I let out a loud curse. I limped to my bedroom and slid the door open. I'd actually bought an American-style bed to sleep on (size 'full') because even if I _was_ in Japan, there was no way I was sleeping on a futon. It was the _floor_, for crying out loud! Unfortunately, my luxury of a bed took up almost all of my room's space, so I barely had floor enough to squeeze in the matching dresser and vanity set my grandmother had given me when I was sixteen.

It was a pretty vanity set. I ran my hand down the curve of the swiveling oval mirror's frame with a fond smile, thumb tracing the familiar sunflowers carved into the wood, and with a deep breath I inhaled the scent of old makeup. My mother and grandmother had both used this vanity; it smelt vaguely of their perfumes, muted by dust and years and furniture polish.

I moved to sit at the vanity's cherrywood bench and tilted the mirror down so I could see my hands. Then, reaching behind me, I grabbed one of the boxes on the bed and hefted it into my lap. I found the one I wanted without trouble because it was the only box marked 'FRAGILE' in bright red on all of its sides (marked more than once per side in some cases), and with a nail file I pulled from one of the vanity's many drawers I began slicing the top of the box open.

Inside were packing peanuts. Beneath those I found anther box. I removed it and cut it open, and as I cleared more packing peanuts out of _it_ I saw the familiar black carapace of my camera bag, which I unceremoniously yanked out in a shower of foam pellets. The zipper hissed when I slowly slid it open, savoring the moment like a glass of wine.

"Hello, babycake," I cooed to the body of my trusty Nikon 5100 as I lifted it from its snug niche in the bag. "Didja miss me?"

I had three spare battery packs, four lenses of varying quality and function, at least twenty gigs of digital memory cards, and a wealth of assorted cords alongside the camera's actual body. I carefully inspected each piece one by one for cracks or damage and, finding nothing amiss, I put everything back in the bag and then reached into one of its side pockets. In it I found my simple Nikon Coolpix S230 point-n'-shoot camera, the one I tended to carry day-to-day so I could take snapshots of whatever I liked without feeling too serious about the whole affair. The 5100 was my work camera, and plus, it was bulky. The S230 was much easier to casually carry around.

I studied the small silver camera for a few moments. Then I took a picture of myself in the mirror for a laugh.

"I look like shit." I giggled to myself. My heart-shaped face was paler than normal; my freckles look blotchy, smeared haphazardly across my nose and cheekbones like bad bronzer. A lock of hair had come out of my wavy ponytail to lie like a comma on my forehead; the remnant of my old, instantly-regretted bangs. I shoved it back with a scowl. "I need to do something about my hair."

It wasn't until I finally finished unpacking my clothes later that night that I realized I needed to do something about my _wardrobe_, too, because I had nothing to wear to the club opening that Friday.

* * *

><p>Luckily, a single phone call to Yoko provided me with a dress—and what a dress it was. I know I went pale beneath my freckles when she brought it over to my apartment Friday evening, only an hour or so before the club's manager was expecting me to show up.<p>

Yoko is probably five feet, three inches tall. I'm 5'8. When she wears a dress that hits her at about the knees, you can bet your britches it will only hit _me_ at the middle of my _thigh_, and since the dress she lent me was meant to hit _her_ at _mid-thigh_… well. You can imagine just how much leg I was showing in that skintight get-up, especially when Yoko lent me a pair of four-inch wedge high heels to go with it. The heels were sparkly and silver to match the belt chain Yoko slung precariously around my hips.

I couldn't help but throw on a pair of opaque black leggings under the violet dress. I've never been enough of a diva to pull off that much skin, though I was somewhat grateful that the neckline of the dress was a modest, shallow v-cut, and the sleeves came all the way down to my wrists.

"Do you think this is appropriate?" I asked, tugging at the dress's lower hem in an attempt to cover more of myself.

"It's a club, Lu-chan," Yoko said. She pinned me with her most unmovable I-know-what's-best expression. "You're not supposed to dress like you're going to the office."

I might have scowled, but I knew she was right. I'd reported on club openings in the past, and I'd always felt too underdressed when I went in office attire.

Yoko did my hair while I sat at my vanity, trying not to flinch when she tugged too hard on my reddish strands. She'd done up my green eyes with thick black liner and jade-colored shadow with gold for highlights, plus a little plum-tinted gloss on my lips.

"There," she said when she'd finished pinning back select bits and pieces of my hair. "What do you think?"

"I look… less shitty," I observed.

Yoko swatted me on the back of the head with equal parts affection and irritation. "Do not undermine my hard work!"

"So making me look pretty is difficult?"

"Lu-chan, you're impossible," she scolded, and she shoved a small silver clutch purse into my hands. It had a removable silver chain so I could sling it over my shoulder if I wanted, but Yoko told me not to use it.

"It will distract from the dress!" she said.

I didn't really care. "So long as it's big enough for all my stuff…"

Luckily, it was. It fit my phone, my wallet, my keys, my press pass, my tape recorder, and my S230 with ease.

* * *

><p>Yoko said she'd walk me to the club since it was only a few blocks away and she didn't want me getting lost, but given that she was dressed to go clubbing, I knew she really wanted to go clubbing with me. She looked really cute in a sparkly blue dress and black p-coat. She was one of those girls who could pull off super-short hair and still look utterly feminine; I knew I'd look ridiculous if I ever tried to copy her style.<p>

I asked her if she wanted to join me on the way there; she replied with a blush and a mumbled affirmative, and when we got to the club my press pass let us cut the block-long line with little more than a word or two to the beefy pair of bouncers guarding the front doors.

The outside of _Game_ had been built in a sleek modern style, resplendent with lights and signs and plenty of reflective glass. The inside was reminiscent of a five-star hotel. A long metal desk with flower arrangements all the way down it greeted us as soon as we went inside; behind it stood about two dozen people ready and willing to check you in and take your coat, and on either side of the long desk were sweeping staircases made of wrought iron and shiny steel. Icy blue lights underneath them really made the place feel like a club, as did the deep throb of bass coming from somewhere above our heads. People in club-appropriate bling milled about, coming up and down the stairs with flushed cheeks and smiles. Apparently, there were good times to be had when you made it past the lobby.

"Certainly is a posh place," I said as we checked our coats.

"Glad you like it," said a voice.

I turned. Behind me stood a man in his early thirties; he had a head of sleek black hair and dark brown eyes, and his face was incredibly handsome in a very Japanese sort of way. He wore a suit with no tie, but the suit was of excellent cut and I had a feeling it was a designer label. He regarded me with a friendly, open smile. He seemed to recognize me even though I'd never seen him before in my life—but I had a feeling I knew who he was, regardless.

"Are you Onegai Tatsuo?" I asked in Japanese, recalling the name of the club's manager before I spoke.

The man dipped a bow, confirming my suspicions. "Indeed." He was an inch or so shorter than me, but since I was in heels that put me at six feet tall, that was to be expected. "And you are Matthews Lucy?"

"Call me Lu-chan," I said. I curbed my instinct to shake his hand with a low bow, Japanese style. "Thank you for having me here tonight, Onegai-san."

"Call me Tetsuo," he said, smiling. "And thank _you_ for coming. We need the press!"

I looked around. A steady stream of people came in the front doors to form lines at the check-in counter, and even more people flowed up and down the stairs.

"You seem to be doing quite well already," I remarked. "You must be quite proud."

"Does it compare to the clubs in America?"

"It puts them to shame. This place is beautiful."

My flattery had him glowing with pleasure, and after introducing Yoko as my colleague, Tetsuo offered us a tour of the place. On the ground floor lay the main lobby and coat-check, plus bathrooms through doors beneath the stairs. Up the stairs was the lower club, a huge room with a DJ spinning discs in a revolving booth in the dead center of the circular space. Strobe and neon and dance platforms offered lots of visual interest, as did the booths, tables, and full-service bars lining the edges of the room.

We didn't linger there, though. Instead, Tetsuo led me and Yoko toward a dark curtain guarded by two bouncers, beyond which lay a long hallway paneled with mirrors.

"We've kept the VIP club as separate from the general-admittance club as possible," Tetsuo said as we walked past the mirrors. "We plan on entertaining Domino's most affluent residents, hence the need for places of privacy." He laughed. "It's also handy for interviews!"

The elevator had only four choices to pick from—Game level, Garden level, VIP level, and Roof level. The lift moved so smoothly I could hardly feel us ascend.

"The Garden and the Roof are not open to the public just yet, VIP or otherwise," Tetsuo said. "I could show you them if you would like a preview, however."

"We'll do another blurb once they're ready for business," I said, and the doors slid open.

The VIP room was a quieter place than the thumping lower club. It departed from the sleekly modern feel of the downstairs in order to cater to the decadent—crystal chandeliers, waiters in tuxes, a bar staffed by a beautiful woman with cascading blonde hair, booths with tall backs upholstered in red leather… all of it lay underneath a ceiling layered with gilt gold and a mosaic depicting some sort of dragon-ish thing, made all of blue and white tile.

Tetsuo had us sit next to a bank of huge windows overlooking the glitz of the city; a waiter served us wine in long-stemmed glasses. When he left I asked Tetsuo if he minded if I taped our interview.

"Not at all," he said, so I took out my recorder and placed it between us. The little red 'on' light pulsed softly in the dim room.

I started by asking him all of the usual questions—what was the club's capacity, could it be rented, who could expect to get in, what were the hours, what did the bars serve, all of that. Then I moved on to the bigger stuff, stuff like who owned the place, who had thought the whole idea up—the things people actually wanted to know, the _gossip_, the _gold_.

His answers were not what I expected.

"No, I'm not the owner," he said when I asked. He even laughed a little. "The owner proper is none other than Kaiba Seto."

Yoko let out a little gasp beside me; I shot her a sharp look, one full of covert question. The name rang a bell, but…

"I'm merely the manager," Tetsuo went on. "I opened a string of successful clubs in Tokyo, and when it became apparent Kaiba-san was too busy to take full responsibility of _Game_, he hired me to handle all pertinent affairs even after construction was completed."

My pride stung, suddenly, as did my journalistic sensibilities. I wanted to be talking to the driving power behind the club, not the man hired to manage it—whoever this Kaiba jerk was, I wanted to be talking to _him_. Here I was, wasting time with a nonentity when the real owner was off doing who knows what!

"And he's not here tonight, on opening night?" I asked, forging on ahead with the interview.

"He is currently wrapped up in a new project, unfortunately," Tetsuo said with a sad look. "I had hoped he would comment on my progress. He has not seen the finished club yet, even though I've made it to his exact specifications."

The utter absurdity of the statement struck me. "You mean, he thought this whole thing up and hasn't come to see it?" I said. "He can't spare just an _hour_ to come see the place tonight?"

"Kaiba-san is a very busy man," Tetsuo said, like that was all that needed saying.

"He just cares about his current project more than his past one," I said. I snorted, laughing quietly to myself at the possible cost of my professionalism, but since this was my first day back on the job I felt I could indulge. "Millionaires are all the same."

"Trillionaires."

I looked at Yoko, who had heard my English remark and had, apparently, corrected it.

"Kaiba Seto is a trillionaire," she continued. "He's the richest person in Japan, and one of the top three richest people in the world."

"Seriously?" I asked. I rubbed the back of my neck. "I _knew_ that name seemed familiar."

Tetsuo's expression was an odd one—like he didn't know what to do with me or something, and I had no idea why he would give me a look like that. I curled my hair behind my ears, nervous, when suddenly the man's face lifted in a knowing smile.

"You _have_ heard of the Kaiba Corporation, haven't you?" Tetsuo asked.

The name of the company suddenly had things clicking into place in my head—I remembered reading an article or two about them, but I couldn't recall the subject matter very clearly, other than that it had been about technology. Technology had never been one of my areas of interest, after all, so I'd had little incentive to get involved in that area of the news world.

"I have," I said. "They have a few American branches—one in Chicago, I think?"

Indeed, the more I thought about it, the more clearly I could recall a massive glass building with a K-C logo sitting pretty on Michigan Avenue, rising high above other buildings with a helipad crowning it like some sort of steel diadem.

Yes, the Kaiba Corporation—how could I forget?

Tetsuo's eyes glittered over the rim of his wineglass. "But I take it you do not know what they do."

I smiled sheepishly while trying not to look annoyed at my own lack of information. "Not entirely. My work focuses my attention on entertainment, civil issues, and politics." I left out my last area of expertise, and because I didn't want to look like a total idiot I added: "Something with technology is my understanding."

"You are correct," Tetsuo said. "They focus on computer tech and holography, particularly where applicable to the gaming industry."

"Then it is not surprising I am not familiar with Kaiba Corp. I am not much of a gamer," I joked.

Tetsuo grinned. "You would be surprised by how many non-gamers are quite interested in the Kaiba Corporation," he said. "Particularly _women_ with no interest in gaming whatsoever."

I leaned forward, interested by this mystery on reflex. "Oh?"

"Kaiba Seto, the CEO and primary shareholder of the company… he was rated last year's most eligible bachelor in the world by several magazines," Tetsuo said.

"By Japanese magazines?" I ventured. _Surely I would know more about this guy if they were American—_

"_Cosmopolitan_ and _Vogue_."

I gaped at Tetsuo, marveled equally by my own lack of knowledge as I was at this tidbit of information. Tetsuo's smile reminded me of a Cheshire cat's, full of secrets and amusements.

Yoko grabbed my arm and squeezed it. "Lu-chan has never been one for keeping up with celebrity gossip," she said to cover for my dumb silence. "Isn't that right Lu-chan?"

I nodded… even though it wasn't precisely true. Yoko had no idea how close I was to the celebrity scene—hardly anyone one did.

_That's my secret,_ I thought, recalling the world I'd left behind in Chicago._ I'm not going to dredge it up here, not when it got me into so much trouble back in the States. I'm better off not getting back into that world again… not even when I'm this curious about someone._

Because I _was_ curious. Only a week in Japan and I had a journalistic mystery to solve!

"Still, he _is_ quite handsome," Yoko said, giggling. She pulled out her purse and began doing something on her cell phone. "Maybe you'll recognize a picture. Take a look!"

She'd used her smartphone to access the internet and pull up a picture of the CEO—and he was not what I was expecting. Seen from a three-quarter angle and from a little below, the image showed a tall man standing behind a podium. Feet planted firmly, shoulders strong, hands gripping the edge of the podium's top, back straight—his lips were parted, cold blue eyes on fire as he delivered some speech or another—it was obviously a screenshot of a press conference, if the podium and his impeccably cut suit meant anything.

My eyes lingered on his thick brown hair and those eyes—those _eyes_, so cold but so fierce—for a few seconds before I motioned for Yoko to put the phone away. Despite my many shortcomings that evening, gawking at a piece of eye-candy wasn't exactly professional.

"Well, even if you did keep up with celebrity news, I doubt many Americans know much about Kaiba-san," Tetsuo said, voice lending itself to a more forgiving tone as Yoko made the phone vanish. "Although he was voted one of the most eligible bachelors in the world, he hardly ever breaks news in the tabloids. He does not date, nor does he indulge in much outside of his work—although that doesn't stop the paparazzi from trying to dig up dirt on him from time to time. Simply put, he has very little dirt to dig, or if he does have dirt, he's taken pains to keep it very deeply buried."

My eyebrows rose. Tetsuo put a hand to his lips.

"Forget I said that," he said, eyes on the tape recorder.

I smiled. "Forgotten."

But it wasn't.

What kind of journalist would I be if I let something that potentially juicy slide?

* * *

><p>I finished the interview with a few more questions, and then I asked that Tetsuo let Yoko and I go experience the rest of the club's wonders on our own. We wandered back to the elevator and went down to <em>Game's<em> general level, where I got a drink and Yoko somehow convinced me to dance to the bumping pop music with her. People had flooded in while we had our chat with Tetsuo; elbow to elbow, the room soon grew unbearably sticky and hot, and I had to excuse myself.

I left Yoko at a table by the bar and walked toward the VIP elevator, flashing my pass at the guards with a smile. They nodded me through, and as I got on the elevator I thought about the mysterious Kaiba.

"Who the hell opens a club and doesn't even go to its opening night?" I growled in the stillness of the lift… and then I realized that I'd forgotten to press a button. I nervously jabbed at the VIP key, but then my eyes caught on the Garden and Roof levels.

"Well, he _did_ offer me a tour earlier," I said as I pressed 'Garden'. "Can't get in too much trouble if he offered, right?"

I felt pretty confident that I could ask for forgiveness rather than permission (and get away with it, too) as the doors opened... on the opposite side of the elevator than the one I had entered through. I realized that a huge section of the building had been cut away, forming an 'L' shape with the Game floor and lobby floor below me, and the VIP and Roof levels stretching up higher at my back. The Garden level rested in the crook of the 'L'. Planters filled with ferns, small trees, and all the flowers I could possibly name formed a maze all over the level; I spotted several drink bars scattered about, acting as natural parts of the floral labyrinth.

"This is going to be so cool when it opens," I said, noting the dim lights and unlit lanterns and trickling fountains all over the place… and that's when I heard the voices.

_But this place isn't open yet,_ I thought as my heart rate picked up. _Who is that?_

Intrigued and scared at once, I took a cautious step into the plant maze, looking for the source of the low, angry murmur issuing from the center of the web of foliage. I couldn't make out the words; wind made the plants rustle and the sounds of a myriad of fountains obscured all but the loudest of noises. All I knew was that one man was talking angrily, and loudly, and another would occasionally answer in short, sharp bursts. The sharp voice I did not recognize, but as I grew closer and closer to the speakers…

_I think I know that voice,_ I thought when the angry one said something extra loud (it sounded like "Just trust us!", but I couldn't be sure). The realization surprised me. _But who the heck—_

I turned a corner around a large tiered fountain and immediately leapt backward into its shadow, because I suddenly saw two people. They were speaking in the center of the maze, in a clearing with a mosaic tile floor depicting some sort of… was it the same dragon from the VIP club's ceiling, made of white and blue chips of stone, or something else entirely? I couldn't really tell, but the two men stood on it, and as I looked at them I realized I recognized not one, but _both_ of the figures.

Kaiba Seto, looking regal and bored in a dark blue suit, regarded Jonouchi Katsuya through narrowed eyes. The blonde's hair looked rumpled; maybe he'd been running his hands through it in frustration, but whatever the case was, I could tell from his hunched shoulders and clenched fists that he was anything but happy.

Neither, it appeared, was Kaiba Seto.

I watched the pair talk in abject amazement, hardly daring to believe my incredibly good luck. Tetsuo had said that Kaiba wasn't here, but…

_He was probably lying_, I thought sourly. _After all, journalists are like sharks. One whiff of a celebrity's blood in the water and they swarm. _Of course_ he couldn't tell me Kaiba is really here, and _of course_ Kaiba _would_ be here—it's opening night!_

Still unable to hear their actual words over the trickle of the fountain I hid behind, I settled for opening my purse and taking out my trusty S230. After all, pictures were worth a thousand words… and if that was the case, what kind of gold would a video be worth?

_Especially if it's a video of a man the tabloids can't get a handle on…_

I switched the camera to video mode and pressed the shutter button; the camera made a light fluttering sound as it began to record the action. I watched the scene play out on my camera's small digital screen with a half-second delay from the real events, making sure to capture Jonouchi speaking angrily to Kaiba, who looked as impassive as a dead fish. I couldn't help but stifle a gasp when Jonouchi reached out and actually grabbed Kaiba by the collar of his jacket. I crouched beneath the fountain's lowest tier, not caring that my dress had started to ride dangerously high up my thighs, watching with bated breath as Jonouchi said something to Kaiba with a sneer.

Kaiba, with a flash of gas-flame blue fury in his eyes, shoved Jonouchi off of him and punched the blonde square on the jaw.

My own jaw dropped as Jonouchi stumbled back and hit the floor on his ass, clutching his mouth with his hand. Kaiba stood over him, snarling something before he turned on his heel and stalked away… and headed straight toward me.

I shrank even deeper into my hiding spot. Kaiba passed close enough for me to get a whiff of his cologne (the man smelled expensive, lemme tell ya) but he was so angry at whatever it was Jonouchi had said that he wasn't in any condition to notice little ol' me. I recorded him go, zooming in on his well-clad shoulders before turning my camera back toward the mosaic floor where Jonouchi had been laid out by the trillionaire. I intended to get one last shot of the defeated party… but by the time I had turned, he was already gone.

_Sneaky dude_, I thought as I crawled out of the fountain's made the blood rush to my head; I staggered, putting a hand on the marble bowl. Looking at the camera in my hands made them shake just a little; I asked aloud, voice tinged with burgeoning excitement: "_Now_ what?"

* * *

><p><span>NOTES:<span>

_So, I finally found the flash drive on which I'd saved this chapter (it's been finished for quite some time), and I've borrowed a friend's computer for a few minutes in order to upload it, so… yay for the unexpected, I guess._

_For those who keep up with me, no, I still don't have a consistent means of getting to a computer, but I'm trying SUPER DUPER HARD to update what needs updating. Yaaay!_

_Now we see how Lucy is going to get involved with Kaiba, a little. More drama and craziness to come, both about what's bothering Kaiba/Joey/everyone as well as more on Lucy's past. What is she going to do with the video, I wonder? And how will Kaiba react? And when will these two meet?_

_Also, Kaiba owning a club—to me, it's not a ridiculous notion. I get the feeling he'd see dollar (uh, yen) signs and cash in even if it isn't really his style. The club's name seemed like the obvious choice, because "Club Dragon" or "Blue", etc., seemed a tad bit cliché._

_Many, MANY thanks to those who read the first chapter! Much obliged! Destinyswindow, Tasia'sENDLESSDreams, Adorehim88, Lace Kyoko, , madman42, hieisdarkdragonchick, TallyYoungBlood, Willowleaf2560, Caralirani, , DevonLizz, eragon1228, Zetsubel, Katt Jeane, xCrimsonxKitsunex, undercover prep!_


	3. Chapter 3: The Birth of Hikage Tenkou

Freelance

Chapter 03:

"The Birth of Hikage Tenkou"

* * *

><p>Not much else happened that night. Nothing of note, anyway. I realized that my skirt was bunched up around my waist and awkwardly tugged it back down to cover my butt, I put my camera back in my purse, and once I deduced that Kaiba and Jonouchi were gone I headed off toward the elevator to find Yoko.<p>

I spotted a security camera just as the elevator doors opened and wondered, worriedly, if it was active. My worry was a distant thing, however, because my mind was spinning with other things.

Other more… pressing, things.

* * *

><p>Yoko didn't ask questions about where I'd gone; I just told her my absence had been so lengthy because I gotten lost on the way to the bathroom, that's all, and she bought my story hook line n' sinker. We left the club soon after my return because I had an article to write by the next morning and Yoko was tipsy; she'd had a drink or two while I'd been gone and she didn't feel comfortable staying at the club if I wasn't with her to care of her sorry drunk ass. Said with love.<p>

While Yoko snored on my thrift store couch I settled down on the floor—still clad in my mini-dress and heels, which I'd forgotten to take off at the door (stupid Japanese customs; ugh). I pecked owlishly at my laptop's keyboard in the dark. The laptop sat on my glass coffee table; my camera, the S230, sat next to it. Between sentences I glanced at the small device, thoughts awhirl, and when I finished writing an article I could be proud of I shut my laptop and stood up with a grunt.

"What to do," I said in English. The only light came from the streetlamp outside my uncurtained window; the coffee table gleamed like silver, the camera showing up as a dark spot marring the silky surface like a stone. It certainly was weighing heavy on my thoughts. "What to do, what to do."

Yoko's snores broke off; she blurted: "Huh-wha—?"

"Go back to sleep," I said, still looking at the camera.

My friend sat up, fist balling up as she rubbed at a sleepy eye. "Hi, Lu-chan." She flopped back onto the couch with a sigh, hair mussed and clothes askew. "Tonight was fun."

"Yeah," I said. Then, hoping she'd be too drunk to remember the next day, I said: "Hey Yoko?"

She rolled onto her side and curled into a ball, arms coming up to pillow her head. "Hmm?" she murmured into the crook of her elbow.

"What's the biggest tabloid in Japan?"

* * *

><p>I turned my article in on time the next day and, as soon as my editor said it cut the mustard, I bolted out of <em>The Line<em> and hailed a taxi.

Drunken Yoko had been incredibly informative the night before. All it took was a little internet sleuthing to discover that Yoko had been right in saying the biggest tabloid in Japan had a branch right here in Domino City, super-duper handy-dandy and all that crap, and that they were constantly in search of dirt on Kaiba Seto. He was the resident mystery man of Japan, after all—it was no wonder a branch of _Japan Uncovered_ existed in the town Kaiba called home and operation headquarters.

_I just hope the editor in chief will be willing to see me on short notice,_ I thought as I sat in the back of the cab. I ran a hand over the face of the manila envelope on my lap. _Tabloid fodder has a fast expiration date. The longer I wait to get this story out, the less it'll be worth._ Gossip was only good for so long, even if it was ground-breaking gossip made of gold.

Too bad for me the receptionist at the front desk of _Japan Uncovered_ didn't seem to give a shit.

_Uncovered's_ office building wasn't as big as _The Line's_, but it was swankier. Clearly they wanted to put on a professional front despite being a trashy weekly tabloid, but hey, they sold more magazines than any other in Japan so they had to be doing _something_ right, right? Who the hell was I to judge?

Seriously. Of all the people to judge a tabloid… I get hypocritical chills just thinking about it. Especially considering what I was there to do, not to mention all the crap I'd gotten into back in Chicago.

But I digress.

"Look," I told the receptionist for what felt like the tenth time in five minutes, "I really, _really_ need to speak to Kimori-san. It's urgent."

Kimori-san was the editor in chief; I'd gotten the name off the internet the night before. The receptionist looked at me over the tops of her oval glasses and popped a large bubble with her chewing gum, clearly unmoved by my vehemence.

"I am sure you do, but you can't see him without an appointment," she said, tone laced through with boredom. The speech was one she'd repeated at least as many times as I'd asked to see Kimori; clearly, this was rehearsed. "We rarely accept unsolicited submissions and we do not allow amateur journalists onto the publishing floor without prior permission, recommendation, or appointment."

I resisted the urge to spout off that I was with _The Line_ and, previously, _The Sun (I am not a freaking amateur, you harpy!)_, but since I didn't want my real name associated with the stunt I was trying to pull, I didn't tell her anything. I just planted my fists on her desk and leaned in real close; she leaned back in her chair, eye widening at how brazen I'd become. Clearly she wasn't used to dealing with rude Americans.

I pinned her with my most unmoving stare. "Look, I really didn't want to say this, but—" I dropped my voice "—I have news on a certain Kaiba. You understand?"

I expected the name drop to at least get her to consider buzzing me past security, but instead her look darkened like a looming storm.

"Yeah, like I haven't heard _that one_ before!" she snapped. "Get out, or I'll call security!"

I pulled back with a jerk and ground my teeth together; she reached one manicured hand toward the phone on her desk, about to make the call to have me forcibly removed, but I snatched the phone out of its cradle and held it away from her with a glare. Call me aggressive, but I'm a journalist. This is what I do.

"Hey!" she snapped, rising from her chair. "That's—"

I tossed the phone back to her. She caught it with a surprised gasp, but then her brows knit together when she saw me opening the manila envelope I had, until then, been holding tight in the crease of my leather-jacketed armpit. I flicked open the top flap and pulled a sheet of glossy photo laminate out of its depths, holding the blown-up photograph out to her with a look that said, _'I hope you feel like an idiot after you see this, bitchface.'_

She stared at the photo for a few seconds. Then, like magic, she slowly held the phone to her ear and began to press a series of buttons on the cradle, eyes fixed on the object in my hand. I heard the phone begin to ring against her ear from where I stood.

"Kimori-san?" she said when someone greeted her on the line's other end. "There's something down here you need to see. Now."

I thought: _Jackpot, babycake._

* * *

><p>Kimori offered me an incredibly healthy sum of money for my photographs. I'd gone to a quick-mart and used their do-it-yourself equipment to capture still images from the video I'd taken the night before; when I explained this to Kimori he cancelled his bid on the pictures and offered me even more money for the video itself. I argued up his asking price until I had several months of rent paid off from the sale, and then some. <em>I might even be able to afford a moped or a scooter or something now! A nice one! Not even used or anything!<em>

He made the call to stop the presses while I stood in his office—and he actually used that phrase, something I'd never seen done outside of a cheesy movie. "Stop the presses!" he bellowed into the phone. "We have a new front page story!"

Kimori could've kissed me he was so happy, and I actually did let him hug me after the sale went down. He wasn't what I expected from a tabloid tycoon. The man was short and fat and balding, with the demeanor and carriage of a kindly uncle.

I didn't let my guard down, though. When he asked for my name, I told him I didn't want my name or face associated with the release of the Kaiba photos.

"It's probably a wise decision," he said. His smile fled in the wake of thoughtfulness. "Kaiba is not a man to be trifled with."

My stomach turned a flip at that. Kaiba wasn't the first I'd 'trifled' with, but I hoped he'd be less dangerous than the one I'd left behind in Chicago.

Not that I wanted to think about how similar this situation was to another I'd lived in another life… ugh. Wasn't there a saying about learning from your mistakes? Had I played hooky on that day of kindergarten or something? It certainly seemed like it.

What the hell was I doing, doing this? _Am I just a junkie for danger?_

Kimori didn't seem to notice my preoccupation. I snapped back to attention when he spoke.

"I'd like to interview you to have an eye-witness perspective on the events you captured on this lovely video of yours," he said, beaming. "What should I call you? I'm going to have to credit this, after all!" His eyes lit up all of a sudden. "And you have the most amazing luck! Can I offer you a position here?"

I couldn't help but grin. "Sorry, but I am employed elsewhere at the moment. Our dealings must be as unobtrusive as possible."

He appeared to be crestfallen, but not beaten. "Well, could I at least list you as a freelance correspondent?" he asked with the sullen aura of a kicked puppy.

That position was fine because it meant hardly anything at all; I told him only the first part of that thought.

Christmas had come early for him yet again. "And under what name should I list you?" he gushed. "Welcome to our family, Miss Mystery!"

I had a name prepared; I'd spent all day thinking about it. A part of me thought the name was as risky as all getout, but another part of me… well. This new moniker, this new _nom de plume_, this new pseudonym…

"Call me Hikage," I told him with utmost confidence. "Hikage Tenkou."

The only witness to the birth of Hikage Tenkou had absolutely no idea to what he played the role of unwitting midwife. The fact that this name was, in its own way, paying homage to a name I'd left behind was lost on the amiable Kimori.

Hopefully it would be lost on the rest of the world, too.

* * *

><p><em><span>NOTES:<span>_

_The next chapter has a helluva lot more to do with Kaiba than the past few chapters—as in, it's from his POV. LE GASP. We also learn a bit more about all the stuff Lucy/Tenkou/whatever-the-heck-is-this-chick-calling-herself-todaykeeps hinting at, plus what the big deal with her name is. _

_I'm having a ball writing from Lucy's perspective. The voice is so much fun, and it's easy, too. I really need to work on my other fics, but her chapter took only half an hour to write, so… yeah. I blame her. Plus I blame how short this was. Yeah. Cool. I'm having inspiration in short bursts and all my other fics require loooong chapters. Urgh-sauce._

_Many, MANY thanks to those who read the last chapter! Octoberbird, Lace Kyoko, Eryn Goddess of Chaos, YourFan, AirHeadNinja, Cadens Stella, , phantomxofxmystery, DaAmazingMeepers, !_


	4. Chapter 4: RIVALRY MORE THAN VIRTUAL

Freelance

Chapter 04:

"RIVALRY MORE THAN VIRTUAL"

* * *

><p>Because I had not had the time to return to the mansion the night before, Matsuda found me sitting at my desk long before any other Kaiba Corp. employee had arrived to begin their day. Few employees come to work early on a Sunday; some of the lower-tier workers do not come at all. I am there without fail, however, every day of the week at seven in the morning, sharp, at the very, very latest. That day, Matsuda found me at five.<p>

"Sir," Matsuda said when I answered the knock on my office door. He dipped a short bow before striding toward my desk. "Sir, you need to see this."

I raised an eyebrow when I recognized the object in his hand as a rolled up magazine. He held it out, face grave.

"I was unaware you read magazines, Matsuda," I remarked as I smoothed out the cover—and then I saw the headline and froze.

It read, DUELING RIVALRY MORE THAN VIRTUAL FOR KAIBA S. & KATSUYA JO.

Beneath the headline lay a picture of myself, frozen, fist connecting with the mutt's jaw. His head was twisted so his face was visible to the viewer in profile. Mine was on full display. There was no denying the obvious: _Someone had caught me on film._

I flipped open the magazine. My hands were steady. A spread of photos—all clearly taken from the same video given their orderly sequence and identical resolutions—showed, like some sort of plebian flip-book, the way in which we had argued and subsequently come to blows.

I recognized both the situation and the leafy green background as being from Club Game.

"Jonouchi-san seemed to want to tell Kaiba-san something very badly, but Kaiba-san would not listen," an eyewitness, one Hikage Tenkou, was quoted as saying in the short article accompanying the photo spread. "Kaiba-san became angry and attacked Jonouchi-san. I was not close enough to hear the topic of their argument."

The article went on to ask if, perhaps, the argument came from the fact a recent Duel Monsters tournament had once again ended with the victory of one Mutou Yugi.

My fists clenched atop my desk. That wasn't the reason I'd punched the mutt. This stupid tabloid had no idea what they were talking about, and this Hikage Tenkou idiot—

"Sir?"

I looked up. Matsuda stood at the edge of my desk, hands behind his back, gaze steady and tense. However, he was rocking a little on his heels. This was his only nervous tick, one he rarely succumbed to. I hired Matsuda because of his stoicism. The fact that he was nervous, in turn, threatened to unnerve me.

However, I have never been one to yield to threats.

"They began delivering this to newsstands a half hour ago," Matsusa said. "I sent teams to buy as many as they could before the populace gets hold of them."

I flipped the magazine shut and closed my eyes. "Call them off."

He sounded surprised. "Sir?"

"It's a waste of time and resources. The publishers will have expected me to try this and have printed more, to be delivered later in the day," I said. I opened my eyes and stared down at the magazine. "More than likely they'll post the video from which these stills were taken online, if they haven't done so already." I grimaced, showing my teeth. "It's likely already gone viral."

Matsuda let out a low growl. I shook my head, signaling for him to calm down.

"The time for containment has passed," I said. "We need to proceed to damage control."

He nodded, agreeing with me. "Should I call Katsuya-san?"

Despite my dislike of the mutt, I acquiesced. "Get me the head of this tabloid as well. No one pries into my personal life and gets away with it." I waved a hand. "Go."

"Sir," Matsuda said, and he was out of the room in an instant.

The minute he left I picked up my phone and dialed a number. It rang once before being answered.

"Onegai, what the hell happened?" I hissed.

The proprietor of my club sounded sleepy. "What—"

"Someone has footage of me at your club last night!" I said. "I asked you if the Garden level was closed to visitors and yet someone—"

I explained the situation as quickly (and harshly) as possible.

"Get your ass down here and _explain yourself_," I said when I was done. "And you'd better have an idea of who's responsible for this, or trust me, running my club will be the least of your pathetic worries."

I hung up on his apologies.

The act did nothing to pacify my rapidly fouling mood.

* * *

><p>Onegai arrived before Matsuda, Jonouchi, and the editor of <em>Japan Uncovered<em>. He was supremely unhelpful, though that wasn't entirely his fault. After all, I had been the one to ask him to disable the security cameras on the Garden level and VIP elevator when Jonouchi had asked to speak to me in private, and there are no cameras in the hallway leading to the VIP elevator and lounge.

When Onegai reminded me of this, I almost fired him on the spot. When I fail at something—and I rarely do—I despise being reminded of it.

Onegai had little else to say. No one had been allowed on the Garden level all night and, thanks to the lack of cameras, it was impossible to say who had come anywhere near it while I had been present.

Matsuda arrived while Onegai was still present; he said he'd left Jonouchi in the waiting room and was unable to locate the chief of _Japan Uncovered_.

"He appears to have gone to Bermuda for a vacation," he said when I asked why. "Should I send a team to apprehend him, sir?"

My temples had begun to pound. "That won't be necessary," I said, scowling. I turned to my computer. "Get the mutt in here. Onegai, wait outside."

Onegai and Matsuda left; the mutt burst in and started yelling something about being woken up in the middle of the night for no reason and how I was "a stupid idiot" for thinking he would accept my apologies_ (ha!) _if I insisted on treating him this way. His jaw and cheek had gone dark purple and red; I felt a minute sense of satisfaction knowing I'd managed to bruise him. He'd deserved it.

"—and if ya _Yugi_ is gonna to take your side, well, you got another thing comin'—"

Hearing that name irked me. I cut the mutt off by throwing the magazine at his head. He caught it with a confused blink and stared.

"It's upside down," I spat.

Jonouchi's cheeks colored. He righted the magazine with a grumble of "I knew that"—and then his jaw dropped.

I watched him carefully, but he seemed genuinely surprised, like this was the first time he'd ever seen the pictures or heard of their existence. I had, of course, entertained thoughts that this whole ordeal was some stunt of Jonouchi's, but they had never been serious beliefs. He wasn't ambitious enough, let alone smart enough, to pull off something like this.

_Of course he isn't responsible. He's an imbecile._

"I'm not offering an apology," I said as he opened the magazine and devoured what lay within. "And I honestly don't care what Yugi thinks about me, or you, or whomever your pathetic little mind cares to offer up for his consideration."

Jonouchi's head jerked to face me so hard that his blonde bangs flipped backward over the crown of his head.

"All I want is for this little distraction to disappear." I thumbed a button on my desk and spoke into the speaker above it. "Matsuda, schedule a press conference for Jonouchi. He's going to tell the press that this has all been a misunderstanding and that we've reconciled."

"Shall I write him a speech, sir?" Matsuda asked over the intercom.

"Yes."

Jonouchi, who had been observing the proceedings in stunned silence, launched forward and grabbed my collar in one quick hand. The magazine dropped to my desk. He snarled: "Now wait just a minute—"

My hand came up and grasped his forearm. With a single twist of my wrist and shoulder I managed to slam his torso onto the desk, his elbow tucked up behind his back with my own elbow pressing tight into where his spine met his skull. His jaw fit perfectly over the edge of the table; I'd all but forced him to bow before me.

"Do as you're told, mongrel," I said, keeping my voice icy calm as he cursed and struggled to get away. "I am in no mood to deal with your idiocy. Cooperate, and you won't have to deal with me again." I jerked him elbow higher, ignoring his cries of pain and protest. "You _don't_ want to have to deal with me again. Need I remind you that this is _your fault_?"

I let him go. He lurched up and away, rubbing the back of his neck with fire in his eye. I pressed the intercom and told Matsuda to collect the mutt; he was dirtying my office. Jonouchi offered no protest to the insult, which surprised me.

What the duelist did when Matsuda guided him out via a grip on the his shoulder surprised me even more.

"Kaiba."

I had settled back in behind my desk; I looked up at the sound of my name. Jonouchi had stopped in the doorway and was looking at me, but not with anger. He seemed…

"I'm going to trust you on this one," he said. He offered a forced grin. "You might not trust me n' Yugi, you made that pretty clear when everything went down—"

I averted my gaze. I did not want to think about what had prompted me to punch Jonouchi in the first place. It was over. Done.

"—but _I'm_ gonna trust _you_ on this one." He shrugged. "Then maybe, hopefully, _maybe_ you'll think about doing th' same for us sometime."

I found myself thinking:_ Sentiment is for the weak._

I looked down at my computer and said: "Unlikely. Now get out."

* * *

><p>When he was gone I booted up my computer. True to my earlier assertion, the video had gone viral. I did not bother hacking it. Doubtless, countless users had already backed it up for their personal archives.<p>

Fighting an anonymous horde is pointless, and I dislike futile gestures.

I ran a quick search on the name Hikage Tenkou, but there were only a handful of people in Japan with that name and they didn't live anywhere near Domino City. Still, I investigated each one and found that at the time of my altercation with Jonouchi, two were most likely in bed given that they were each under the age of ten, and the others all had alibis ranging from a punched time-clock at work to being under constant supervision in a retirement home.

I deduced that the name Hikage Tenkou must be an alias.

_So they know who they're dealing with, then,_ I thought as I exited the database I'd hacked to gather my intel. _They're keeping off the radar to avoid confronting me directly. Smart move._

_Too bad I'm smarter._

I called in Onegai shortly thereafter. He looked beaten down and bedraggled beneath his designer suit. I ordered him to check the registry at Club Game; maybe someone had signed in using the name Hikage Tenkou.

His lips curled when I mentioned the alias. "What an odd name," he remarked as he pulled out his mobile phone. It was the newest model Kaiba Corp. produced, capable of accessing the internet at top speeds; Onegai used it to access the club records. After a few moments he looked up and said: "It does not seem anyone used that name last night, sir."

I thought about it, then said: "Check the construction workers and staff."

"Sir?"

"Someone with a connection to the club's interior might have installed cameras with a remote-access feature." I glanced at the magazine still sitting on my desk. I didn't bother to mention out loud that this possibility was highly unlikely given that the video had clearly been taken on a hand-held camera, but Onegai did not need to know that.

The man clicked around on his phone, not daring to look skeptical. I growled when he told me that no one under his employ had ever used that name.

I sat back in my chair to think. This alias had never been used prior to this incident, indicating that this was the first time Hikage Tenkou had ever made waves. Who could it be, then? Were they watching me now? Clearly they'd known where I would be at a certain time; it couldn't be coincidence that they'd caught me and Jonouchi—

_Wait._

I waved a hand at Onegai and told him to sit as I thought about the location of my club. It was downtown, next to other skyscrapers and tall buildings, and some of them—

_Some of them have to have a clear view of the garden level. _

I hadn't bothered checking to see if Jonouchi and I could have been watched in that fashion before our meeting, mostly because the meeting had been spontaneous, but also because I planned to have Onegai install scramblers later on when the garden was actually in use. For a moment I felt elated that I had figured something out, but then the feeling vanished. I'd already determined that the video camera had been handheld; there was no way any far-off security camera could have taken the pictures in question.

_Still…_

How could my photographer have known where to find me, if this was not the answer?

_Two operatives could have pulled this off,_ I thought. _One could monitor the club through the cameras mounted on the other buildings. The other could wait for a signal inside the club itself, then go wherever the other directed. It would take foresight and coordination, but…_

I couldn't help but smirk.

_I wonder if they knew their little plan could be the instrument of their exposure?_

Figuring out which buildings would have a clear vantage point of the garden was a simple task, and hacking into those companies' security systems was even easier. It took only minutes for me to isolate which neighboring cameras could have seen my fight with Jonouchi. I quickly copied and erased the offending footage so no one new could use it against me.

_I'm going to have to buy those buildings if I want to keep Game private_, I thought sourly.

I began enhancing the videos. None of the cameras were expressly trained on the Garden level, so most of the view was either obstructed by the cameras' primary focuses or halfway cut out of the frame. Only a select few were completely clear.

I presume Onegai had grown curious, because he asked: "Sir? What are you doing?"

"Trying to get a look at Hikage Tenkou," I replied just as I zoomed in far enough to see a miniature version of myself assault Jonouchi. "And there he is."

The video wasn't perfect. The action was so far away that it had been reduced to nearly black and white. Jonouchi and I were in the top right quarter of the picture and the video had been taken from a rather high degree above us, so it was hard to see with much clarity of perspective, too. Still, the tape had a just wide enough field of view to capture a dark figure slipping underneath the lowest level of a massive three-tiered fountain, and then catch the same dark figure crawling out from underneath it after Jonouchi and I both left. I watched, smirking, as the figure seemed to adjust their clothing with a hitch and a twist before walking off toward the elevator.

I turned my computer's monitor toward Onegai. "Do you recognize this person?"

He leaned in close and squinted. "Could you make it clearer?"

I turned the monitor back my way and attempted to clean up the image. It was grainy and already at maximum magnification, but I sharpened it as much as possible and brightened the colors. The figure beneath the fountain gained some tint—black on the legs, splotches of silver on the feet, and a square of dull purple on the torso. The head was little more than a dun ball of fuzz. I suspected that the figure was a woman given the sheer volume of hair, but I couldn't be sure if the purple smear was a shirt or a dress from the given distance.

"I'm sorry, sir," Onegai said when I showed him the new image. "I don't recognize this person."

For a moment I considered running a scan on the club's security cameras, looking for everyone who had worn purple, but how many could that have been? Fifty people? More? Less? And how many of them would have used their real names? Did I have time to track down every lead? I didn't want anyone I couldn't directly monitor working on this case—

"Well, sir… the good thing is, at least the other article turned out well."

I looked up. Onegai was staring at his phone with a wry smile. I asked: "What other article?"

Onegai started, looking momentarily ruffled. "Sir, I mentioned to you yesterday—a reporter from _The Domino Line_ attended the opening." He held his phone out to me. "I was just reading the online article. It will be available in print as of this morning's publication."

I cursed; how had that slipped my mind? A journalist was a most suspicious culprit in a case like this, but I had distinctly told Onegai not to let any of the press know I was at Club Game after he'd mentioned the appointment with the reporter. I had assumed, therefore, that he would follow my orders and keep my presence a secret, but given the fact that someone had found me…

"Did you tell that reporter I was there?" I asked.

I suppose I looked accusing (not that I particularly care) because Onegai looked utterly aghast. "Sir, of _course_ not!" he said. "I would never betray you like that!"

I cupped my chin in my hand to think and found myself pondering, once again, how Hikage Tenkou had known where to find me. My earlier accomplice theory seemed probable, given the circumstances. I thought:_ Should I run a sweep of the other buildings' security feeds and look for Hikage's partner in crime? But just who should I be looking for? For what clues should I be on high alert?_

_Is the reporter from last night the culprit, the accomplice, or just a handy red-herring the real perpetrators are counting on to confuse me?_

"The article will bring in a heap of business," Onegai continued. He was clinging to the one shard of good news amid a myriad of bad; it annoyed me. I took the phone from him and scanned the text on its screen, hoping to find some sort of answer, or at least a clue to the puzzle. "The reporter is a new talent, an American, in fact, and that foreign factor—"

I tuned him out as I read. The author, one Matthews Lucy, only had praise to give Club Game. She outlined that it was hip and atmospheric, that it had all the right amenities, and that the VIP room—

As sudden as a breaking bone, I felt a connection form.

"Matthews had access to the VIP lounge?" I asked.

Onegai paused in his rant on the value of publicity. Then he said, timidly: "I thought a private interview and tour would—"

"So she had access to the VIP elevator." I pinned the manager with a hostile glare. "Were you with her the entire night?"

"I, well—well, no," he admitted, flustered. His cheeks were going rapidly redder. "She said she wanted to get a feel for the club on her own—"

"With a VIP pass, she could have very easily gone out to the garden level without supervision!" I snapped. I turned to the computer and, in a flash, pulled up the security footage from the front desk. "What time did she come in!"

Onegai stuttered a response. I told him to stand behind my desk as I cycled through the video, and when Onegai jabbed his finger at the screen with a cry of "That's her!", I paused the feed.

Leggy and tall; that was my first impression of Matthews, Lucy. My second impression was of her mane of hair. The woman had hair that couldn't quite decide if it was brown or red, but it was mostly red, and dark. Long loose curls of it tumbled down her back; a few had been pinned at the nape of her neck to clear our view of her pale face. Her nose was thin, her cheekbones high, and her lips shapely without being ridiculous or full; this was a good thing since the chin they were poised above was naively pointed and delicate.

All of those features, however, came secondary to her eyes, which constituted my third impression. Set beneath a delicately arched brow, her eyes shone bright, unmistakable amber-green; a darker green ring around the edge of the iris gave them added weight and intensity. Matthews had narrow eyes, cunning eyes, eyes that seemed more intelligent than the sparkly makeup covering their lids suggested as they gathered in the sights around her with shrewd awareness.

When I made the video play, and her head tilted up toward the security camera…

_Freckles?_

The fact that someone with such dangerous, calculating eyes could have _freckles_, of all things, almost made me smile.

Almost.

She was wearing purple.

* * *

><p><em><span>NOTES:<span>_

_Kaiba is entirely too smart for me. I kept thinking of new things for him to consider, but I'd only think them up WAY after the time he would have naturally come up with them, because I'm, like, thinking at maybe half the speed he is capable of, and that's if I'm being generous. It was super hard to cover all the bases of his analytical thought process, and I'm sure I missed a few things. Ugh. But, next chapter we learn more about Lucy's weird names, plus how she and Kaiba are going to get along. Yay. It's gonna be bloody good fun. Not entirely metaphorically._

_Also, what's up with the Kaiba-Joey-Yugi stuff going on in the background? Seems Lucy and Kaiba both had things they'd rather not think about._

_One thing I want to say about Kaiba is that if he came across as a little emotionless in this chapter, just trust me when I say it's intentional. He's going to actually emote next time, promise, mostly because I have this theory that he can put his emotions in a little lock-box when things get intense. After all, he's a CEO. He deals with a hundred crises before breakfast; he can handle this without yelling and screaming._

_Next chapter, though… bahaha. Just wait. _

_Anyway, this was my first time ever writing him, so… be gentle? I feel I'll be able to characterize him better from Lucy's perspective, to be honest, and with further practice. Tips on writing him are SUPER APPRECIATED!_

_Many thanks to the readers of the previous chapter! Willowleaf2560, rain chant, TeacupKitty, phantomxofxmystery, Obvious Pseudonym, Lace Kyoko, Tasia's ENDLESS Dreams!_


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